


Cowboys and Indians

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sibling Incest, Somnophilia, Underage Character, Weecest, Weechesters, Wincest - Freeform, dean/ofc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:58:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An account of the times Sam jizzed himself while Dean pinned his hands down, starting with a game of cowboys and indians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cowboys and Indians

The first time Sam creams himself while Dean's pinning him down, he's 12. It's fucking horrifying.

They're playing cowboys and indians, really too old for it at this point, but they've been stuck in this motel for three days straight waiting for dad, and they're both getting pretty squirrely. Nevermind that cowboys and indians requires other people, and space, and sort of being outside, they could make do. Sam had finally goaded Dean into it, because saying you wanted to play a kid's game was a lot less weird than saying, hey, let's wrestle, cause I sort of like it when you touch me and I don't want to wait until tonight when I crawl into your bed and act like I miss dad.

Dean had humored him, like he sorta always did, rolling his eyes, “As long as I get to be the cowboy, Sammy.” Dean is always the cowboy.

They draw a line between their beds, intersecting with the line of salt already around the both of them, because that's how hunters sleep, Sam knotting one of Dad's fed ties over his forehead because Dean says he has to if he's gonna be the indian. They fight for their territory, whoever gets to the other's bed winning that round. Dean lets him win the first few, lets Sam knock him over to jump onto his bed with a fake tomahawk dance and war cry, Dean rolling his eyes and smiling. Sam likes it when Dean plays like this, when he smiles that crinkle-face smile that makes him look like a kid, not the grown-up face he usually puts on when Dad's away and Dean has to  _take care of Sammy_.

Dean doesn't let him win the next few rounds, blocking Sam easily, flinging him onto his own bed like it's nothing. Sam feels so small next to Dean, so puny, an ocean of hormones and muscle away from Dean's sixteen-year-old godhood, his quiet strength and the easy smiles he throws at everything in a skirt. Sam will never be like that, he's sure of it, but he doesn't want Dean to think he's useless, think he can't help him hunt and do all the cool things Dean does.

Sam really tries hard the next time, tries to sweep Dean's legs out from under him with the side-kick that Dad had drilled him on relentlessly the last time they'd trained. It actually works for a second, Dean going down on his knees as Sam scrambles for his bed, Sam going right down with him a moment later when Dean turns and grabs his wrist, twisting his arm so Sam jerks back towards him, Sam kicking his leg out again in a valiant attempt to free himself, Dean pulling him into his own kick so he lands on Dean's lap, holding him there while Sam struggles until he finally gets in a head-butt and rolls off him, mad dash for the prize ended when Dean tackles him, pinning him face-first to the floor.

There's salt everywhere, they're both sweating and breathing hard, Dean laughing as he leans his full weight on Sam, and all Sam can feel is how strong Dean is, how he feels so big and hot on top of him, how safe he feels, how he smells kind of good even when he's all sweaty like this, and Sam keeps struggling against him even though he's clearly won, because he doesn't want Dean to let go, because if he lets go he's gonna see that Sam has a boner, and that would be the worst thing in the world.

So Sam keeps squirming, “No fair, Dean,” coming out about an octave higher than he'd like it to, “Oh, please, Sammy, you lost, give it up,” barked back at the pitch Sam wishes his stupid, cracking voice could emulate, and then Sam can't even think about his voice because  _holyfuckingshit_ he can feel Dean's dick pressing into his butt cheek, sort of hard and so much bigger than Sam's and he can  _feel_  it, feel his brother's _dick_  and it makes him feel sort of dizzy and sick like when you spin in a circle too many times and then he just …  _oh fuck no nonononono_  ... everything's a little fuzzy around the edges for a second, feels so good, terrible wonderful horrible feeling of everything being right where it belongs before everything snaps back into focus and Sam realizes that he just  _jizzed himself_  at the thought of Dean's  _dick_ , the one that's pressing into him, the one he kind of hopes stays there but doesn't as Dean starts rolling him over and asking if he's ok.

Nevermind,  _this_  is officially the worst thing in the world.

“Sam, Sammy, hey, did I hurt you, for real? Are you ok, Sammy?” Sam just blushing and stammering, “I'm fine, fine, m'fine...” as Dean looks down at him and sees the  _giant wet spot_  oh fuck fuck fuck there's a huge fucking stain on his pj bottoms and there's no way he's hiding this now. “Sam, did you fucking piss yourself?!” Sam can't even answer that one, genuinely can't decide which is worse at this point, just kind of stares back up at Dean and wills himself to sink into the floor and die, can't believe he doesn't actually do it as Dean's eyes widen a little as it dawns on him that his little brother just fucking came in his pants while they were horsing around because clearly Sam is the biggest freak in the universe.

Dean pulls away from him, so quickly, too quickly, “Better, uh, get to the bathroom, there...” Dean just looks mortified, which is really what Sam should look like because he wants to fucking die right now, right now when Dean walks away from him and stands at the sink pretending to do something.

Sam shuts himself in the bathroom for as long as he can stand, not wanting to go back out and face Dean, who'll find a million ways to tease him about this, he's sure.

Dean's just standing at the counter, cereal boxes in front of him as he opens the milk. He looks at Sam and blushes a little, which is sort of funny because Dean's not the one who just creamed his pants like a freakazoid spazzcase. Dean just smiles at him, grabbing two dingy-looking bowls from the cupboard.

“No harm, no foul, Sammy, let's just act like it never happened, ok?” Sam just nods his head. “Now, let's make dinner. Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms? Or, the Sammy special – half Fruit Loops, half Lucky Charms?”

Sam still crawls into bed with him that night.

*

The second time Sam jizzes himself while Dean's holding him still, he's 13. It's sort of exciting.

Sam had pulled the usual wait till Dean's asleep then creep into his bed routine, same routine they've been doing since forever, unspoken rule that nothing counts while Dean's asleep.

This time Sam's on his back, asleep, really asleep, blissfully asleep in one of those amazing dreams that don't come often enough when he feels something, something warm hard soft pressure so good on him, wakes up humping himself up on it, doesn't stop doing it when he sort of half realizes that it's Dean's leg, splayed in between his own while Dean lays on his side. This happens often enough, both of them waking up with sticky shorts the next morning, one of those you don't talk about it things, half-awake moments when one of them finds the other rubbing up against him forgotten when daylight comes. Besides, it doesn't count if Dean's asleep, that's the rule, and it feels so good, Dean's strong thigh snugged just right against Sam's hard-on, perfect groove of it between his belly and Dean's leg for him to rut right into.

Sam lolls his head to the side, so good, it feels so good and he's really close, really really close fuck fuck oh god  _what_...

Dean's definitely  _not_ asleep, green eyes almost glowing in the dark as he lays on his side and stares at Sam, Sam going totally still under him in panic. Dean's gonna kill him, gonna kick him out and Sam just ruined everything and he's so fucked up and fuck fuck...

“Shhh...” Dean squeezes in closer, trapping one of Sam's arms under him as he reaches out to circle his hand around Sam's other wrist, holding him there while he shifts his hips and rocks himself onto Sam, “S'ok, Sammy, shhhh...” mumbled against his neck as  _holyfuckingshit_  Dean's dick presses right against Sam's, Dean's hard,  _really_  hard, really big dick right next to Sam's really hard but not as big dick, god, Dean is so _big_ , looks right at Sam as he rolls his hips and rubs them together, speeds up until Sam's biting his lip to keep quiet, convinced Dad will hear them from two rooms away, and Sam tastes copper in his mouth when he comes on himself, keeps biting his lip as Dean rubs into the hot wetness seeping through his shorts until there's another sticky feeling against Sam's crotch.

Sam comes in his shorts a  _lot_  that way after that night, but Dean doesn't need to hold him still any more, going to bed each night turning into something they do in their own way, with a lot less sleeping for both of them.

*

The third time Sam comes without a hand on his dick while Dean holds his arms behind him, he's 14, and he's soaking wet.

“Hey, Sammy, didn't you need to take a shower?” Dean stumbling into their room with some girl,  _another_  girl, “take a shower” the new signal for “give me half an hour to hit this.”

It could be worse. They're in a nicer place than usual, actual paying job for once, and Dean's taking full advantage of the hotel lobby bar and the apparently endless stream of eager, giggling women that inhabit it. At least the shower's nice, fancy sort of thing with glass walls and a big bench, state of the art steam shower deal that Sam has gotten to know intimately. Also has a detachable shower head, so that's helped.

Leave any 14 year old boy alone in the shower for long enough and he'll start jerking off, so it's hardly out of the ordinary for Sam to have his hand on his dick while Dean's making what's-her-face titter so loudly Sam can hear it over the water. Sam wishes it didn't get to him, wishes he didn't spend so much time thinking about just what Dean does with all those girls, because he knows  _exactly_  what Dean does with them.

The only thing Dean seems to like more than fucking girls is telling Sam all about it while they're all sweaty and pressed up against each other in the middle of the night, crawl into bed ritual still intact every night when Sam slips out from under his covers and lays himself next to Dean, both of them already hard, way past the grinding crotch stuff at this point, jerking each other off with military precision, knowing just what the other likes. Sam wants to do more, thinks about it constantly, asks for it in desperate little whispers in the middle of the night, but Dean seems to have drawn the line at hand-jobs as an appropriate limit for what you can do with your little brother in bed. Sam spends too much time jerking off in the shower thinking about what it would be like to suck Dean off, get on his knees for him like all those girls do, taste him …

Sam's thinking that Dean could do this better, why can't it be later already,  when Dean's right up behind him, naked and more than kind of drunk based on the way he's staggering a little bit, pulling Sam's arms off his dick (and his balls, Dean taught him that trick too) to pin them behind his back and press Sam up against the shower wall, Sam's cock hot and hard against the cold tile, Dean breathing into his ear.

Why does Dean have to smell like that, like whiskey and cigarettes and leather and sweat and warm pie crust and like he just got a lap dance from an entire stripclub, lethal combination the only thing Sam can think of when he comes any more?

“What'cha thinkin' about, Sammy?” Jesus, Sam can feel Dean's cock pressed against him, only half-hard because he presumably just came for giggles out in the other room, which means his cock probably has jizz all over it from wearing a condom for her, and Sam wishes that didn't make his own cock twitch so hard. “Thinkin' about pounding that hot little piece of ass I just picked up? Bet she'd do you too...” Dean pressing himself in closer, more friction for Sam to rub himself against but not enough, he needs a hand on him...

“C'mon, Sammy, tell me... what're you rubbing one out to while I'm in the next room, huh?” Dean's cock is way past half-hard now, pressed right into Sam's ass once again, full weight of his older brother pushing Sam's cheek flush against the tiles, harder twist at his arms. “What do you get yourself off to, Sammy?”

Sam's never had much control when it comes to Dean, and he has even less as he grinds himself back against him. “Fuck you, Dean, what do you think, you fuckin' know...”

“C'mon, Sammy, wanna hear it...” Everything narrowed down to the press of them together, Dean hot against his back, perfect fit of him behind Sam.

“Think about sucking your dick, Dean, think about you coming in my mouth while I'm on my knees, think about you...” And that's all Sam can take, breath coming out in some guttural, wet noise against the tiled wall as he feels himself seize up and paint the walls white, hot spurt of it against his belly, sliding down the shower wall to swirl down the drain.

“Fuck, Sammy, holy shit...” Dean spins him around while he's still dizzy, last twitch of come leaking out of his dick as he feels Dean's hands on his shoulders, pushing him down to his knees.

Dean changes his policy on blowjobs that night, and showering becomes one more thing they do together in their own way.

*

The fifteenth time Sam creams his pants while Dean's wrestling him down, he's at Stanford, and about two seconds ago he thought someone had broken into his house.

“Whoa, easy, tiger...” And it's Dean, Dean on top of him like every wet dream jerk-off session formative sexual memory Sam has, Dean rubbing his thigh against Sam like he's 13 again, and fuck if Sam doesn't have an instant boner from that, face hot with shame as he feels himself thicken under Dean, wicked little smirk at Dean's mouth cause he knows what he does to Sam, always has, always will, even with Sam's girlfriend in the next room, perfect in every way except for the one big problem of not being Dean. Sam loses it and loses it quick, knows he'll let Dean talk him into anything, knew he'd come for him one day.

*

The next time Sam comes without a hand on his dick while Dean pins his wrists, the monster's dead, they've had pie for dinner, and they're back in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere, Dean's dick so far up Sam's ass he can practically taste it, can taste his own come on Dean's neck as he sucks a bruise on him.

“Hey, Sammy … remember when we used to play cowboys and indians?” Sam just smiles at him and brings his hands up, Dean's fingers circling around his wrists to pin him down. “I still jerk off thinking about that.” And Sam comes with his mouth on Dean's, sticky wet heat between their stomachs, and everything's right back where it belongs.

  


**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post here!](http://saltandbyrnefic.tumblr.com/post/135992425464/cowboys-and-indians-an-account-of-the-times-sam)


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